So, when we moved out here, we brought the bikes with us. Prior to that, I had only really ridden my quad on the beach in Swakop, and not ever in Windhoek. The beach is very different to the mountains that we have here on the plot.
Nevertheless, it was great. We often went bundu-bashing with them, up and down the mountains, creating little roads for ourselves so we could check fences and walk the dogs. I frequently got myself into kak on the bike, as I explored alone often. There's no signal at the back of the mountain, so when I got stuck there, I had no choice but to get myself out, in whatever way I could.
With the first run-in with the warthogs, they charged me. At that point, I knew better than to get off my bike, and had ben trying to fend the dogs off of them with the bike itself. When they turned on me, I had to pick my legs up, whilst still trying to control the damn bike, and planted it into a tree. Thereafter the episode happened, resulting in me being bitten by the piggy, and I had to climb the mountain on foot to find signal and get Pio to come help me.
There was the other time, bundu-bashing in my own, where I got stuck in a ditch. I couldn't reverse as wheels just spun and as usual, the front of the bike was stuck in a tree - my signature move. I couldn't call Pio, as I think he was away - or I was just determined to do it myself. I tried picking the thing up. Bear in mind, this is a big Yamaha 350. I can barely get it off the ground, and can only shift it a couple of centimetres at a time.
I shift, packed rocks under the tyres, and got myself out, with great pride.
The worst that I ever did, happened the day before I flew to England to see my family. We normally did a roundabout circut, up to the top of the hill past the old ruins, swung to the left and went down to the bottom. We then would head along the fence line to the dar right corner of the plot, pause on that little hill so the dogs could run and sniff. We would then head down through the river and up a very steep mountain to the top, back long the top of the mountain and down past the ruins home again.
For some strange reason, on this very steep hill at the back of the mountain, Pio's bike failed and wouldn't start. Navigating up this mountain is hectic and not for the faint-hearted. There are big rocks, as well as millions of small ones, and over time, we'd worn a road. On this road, you had to really gun it because all the grip had been worn away and the bikes slipped and slid out on the small rocks. The nose often picked up as well on the incline, and you had to lean forward, dodging trees and heaven only knows what else at the same time.
I was sitting at the top of the mountain, waiting for him. Eventually, when he didn't come, I headed back down to see what was going on.
I was over-confident. I thought I knew my bike.
Reality check, incoming.
As I got to him, he was sitting in the middle of the road on a particularly steep bit. I had to turn, so took the first opportunity I could and swung the bike left to point the back of it at him. I was figuring I could just reverse, then head straight back up, starting on the grass that gave me grip, so I could get up enough speed to clear the mountain.
It all happened in slow motion. The bike began to tip to the right, and Pio screamed at me to get off.
I jumped, but as the bike was already tipping, I couldn't get off the high side and had to go into its path. How I managed it, I don't know. I was off and out of its way, as it slowly tipped over and rolled down the mountain, side over side.
I sprained my ankle in the process, slipping on a rock, and was almost in tears with pain, watching my poor bike do some bundu-bashing of its own. Pio, between laughing, told me, "You NEVER turn on a mountain!" Apparently this was logic - I didn't know that. everyone had always said, "You can't roll a quad." I took that quite literally apparently.
We then had to slide down the mountain ourselves and get the bike back on all fours, wonky ankle and all. We limped home, my nerves in tatters. From riding in Swakop in the dunes, we'd seen and heard many horror stories of people going up the dunes and falling backwards due to the incline. The bike would then fall on them, and with that weight, do serious damage. Guys had broken backs and necks in the dunes.
It was my first reality check with the bike. It also took months for me to be able to navigate any sort of incline on the bike again, and I still have a niggle in the back of my head when the going gets steep or I'm sideways on an incline.
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